The massed pipes and drums of the various competing bands

Saturday July 3rd 1999

As a Scot, I was naturally intrigued to learn that our time in Penticton would coincide with the annual Penticton Highland Games. It is often the case that emigrant communities take their cultural heritage somewhat more seriously than those who stayed at home, and given Canada's strong and continuing Scottish ties, I was interested to see how Canadians would go about staging a highland games. The weather was none too promising in the morning, and was threatening to strengthen the Scottish atmosphere with a typically Caledonian downpour, but fortunately, the rain stayed its hand until evening.

My first impression was that I couldn't remember the last time I had seen so much tartan, except perhaps at a Scotland international football match (and perhaps not even then). The best I could do (having left my own kilt back in Slovenia) was to wear a t-shirt displaying the Pictish symbol stone of Dunnichen, but that went over the head of the Canadians, it would seem. Mind you, precious few Scots know about the battle of Dunnichen/Nechtansmere, despite its importance as one of the most formative events in Scottish history and its probable status as a sine qua non of Scottish nationhood, but that's another story.

Fergus in Dunnichen t-shirt, happily drinking Irn-Bru, Scotland's favourite hangover cure

The opening ceremony was followed by the massed pipes and drums marching into the stadium in duly impressive fashion to the sounds of "Bonny Dundee" (allegedly an ancestor of mine, a link which has yet to be proven, but one which I was more than happy to claim for the day at least). I've always found massed pipers a moving sight, and this was no exception. Canadian pipe bands have a justified reputation for excellence, and although the pipers all came from British Columbia, they were certainly up to the task. An interesting addition to the scene was provided by a Danish marching band.

One of the most popular events was the highland dancing competition. I must admit that I only found it interesting for a short period, since after a while watching several hundred people dance the same (or similar) dance in small groups and to varying degrees of ability becomes a little tedious.

Highland dancing competition

Of greater interest to me were the highland games themselves. At one point I thought I'd found a specifically North-American angle, when I found a group of bekilted pipers throwing an American football around - whatever the other advantages of wearing a kilt, it is clearly not designed for contact sports, especially not for "true Scotsmen" in the sense of under-kilt attire - but it turned out that this was just a way for nervous competing pipers to relax before their big moment playing in front of the crowds. However, there were games being played, although they did strike me as being somewhat of an afterthought, given that they were staged in a small corner of the arena, away from the main stands. Perhaps the main interest of many of the visitors lay in watching their kids compete in the highland dancing - certainly, there seemed to be many an anxious parent in the crowd determined to make their daughters even more nervous before they got on stage.

Pitching sacks of hay over a bar (the sack can just be made out to the right under the crossbar)

Perhaps the most unique event in any highland games, and certainly the most commented-upon by non-Scottish visitors to such events, is the ancient tradition of tossing the caber. A caber is a long and heavy log, which competitors must lift by the base and then throw. Success lies not so much in distance thrown as in getting the caber to go end-over and land in a perpendicular position to the thrower. It is a sport that relies as much on technique as on brute strength, and is definitely spectacular to watch.

Merely lifting the caber is a challenging task in itself

A successful caber-toss, with the caber landing at "12 o'clock"

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